For many years now I've tended to this accidental 'wild' garden in the streets and parks and cities I have visited or lived in. At the same time I have always read through my work for clues to some larger subject, suspecting that it was pictured there, waiting for me to discover its meaning. This is how I stumbled upon these flower photographs that I had gathered unknowingly. I began to believe that this innocent premise―"the flower"―might be enough to tie together many of my other concerns under the guise of the nominal subject of flowers, in this case viewed as flowers gone somewhat berserk―wild flowers.
The varieties growing here are life's familiar ones―the dailies, within which there are processionals, maritals, burials, some lyricals, as well as some conventionals, and among the more carefully watched rituals there might even be events to see. They hold the mysteries and pleasures of life although they appear familiar. These life moments are like flowers―within their unfolding and mysterious form, they are a world of luster and dust, of silk and wax. They bloom and they fade.